I have spent the better part of my innings as a food and travel writer hungrily chasing fads of every kind around the world for that elusive story. If that means foraging for discarded vegetables and fruits from a garbage bin outside a major supermarket chain in London with a group of ‘freegan’ Dumpster Divers, then so be it. I’ve schlepped my way, hefty suitcase in tow, changing three subway trains, to experience the thrill and stupidity of Couchsurfing for free at a stranger’s pied-à-terre in Manhattan’s hipster haven of The East Village and obviously lived to tell the tale.
So, a month ago, while the world and its pre-pubescent nephew were busy capturing the double-headed Doduo and its other monster comrades in the Augmented Reality world of Pokémon Go, I set off on the scent trail of a trend imbued with all the adventure and audaciousness the real world can throw at you. Finding myself on a day trip from Switzerland to the Alpine micro state of Liechtenstein, I decided to give geocaching a shot after hearing about it from a fellow backpacker.
Now, geocaching, for the uninitiated, is a sort of app-based ‘treasure hunt’ for travellers in which participants use GPS and other low-tech navigational aids, like tips from previous players, to seek out small containers called ‘geocaches’. Generally containing a small log book and a pen/ pencil, these geocaches are hidden at specific locations marked by coordinates around the world. Once found, the geocacher enters the date they found it and signs it with an established code name.
And no, I’m not telling you mine. My reticence has its underpinnings in the secret, almost Omertà-esque codes of Geocaching conduct, which also mandate that after signing the log, the cache be placed back exactly where the person found it. Also, photographing your find is frowned upon, lest one inadvertently reveal direct clues of its location via social media and thus spoil the thrill for other prospective seekers.
As I trudged through the hilly, mist-shrouded slopes of Vaduz, tiny Liechtenstein’s proportionally diminutive capital, the Geocaching app on my smartphone was barely registering a blip. Then, all of a sudden, as I exited the north end of Stadtle, the pedestrian-only ‘Golden Mile’ of Vaduz, towards the quaint village of Mitteldorf, the nifty ‘you’re getting warmer!’ banner furiously flashed on my phone screen. Swiftly walking, nay running, along Mitteldorf’s cobblestoned main street, I turned the corner on to the vineyard-lined Hintergass Street, all the while paying deferential respect to my GPS’s better judgement. And then, there it was.
Somewhere between the strangely Mediterranean-looking Torkel restaurant that’s situated in the Liechtenstein Royal Family’s vineyard called Herawingert, and the Prince’s very own winery, Hofkellerei, was the treasure. Hidden under a couple of flat stones resting at the base of the trunk of a rather forlorn-looking beech tree, one of the many on the estate, the nondescript Tupperware-type box was akin to the Holy Grail for me. Not sure if I’d be arrested for trespassing, vandalism, royal espionage (or a combination of all three), I quickly lifted the lid, pulled out the log book, and entered my details. Finding other knick-knacks like keychains, stamps and even a large plastic coat button (!?) in the box, I decided to add to the seeker-sponsored travel detritus by throwing in a shiny new five-rupee coin that I found in the recesses of my wallet. Putting the box back just like I found it, and happy to do so undetected, I slunk out of the vineyard, ready for my next mission…
Now, back home in Mumbai, the Geocaching app alerts me to a cache in Mahim Nature Park, an arboreal green lung of the city, not too far from where I am. And I have every intention of seeking it out. Soon. But in the meanwhile, I have a rather elusive Vaporeon à la Pokémon Go to enslave.
Mumbai-based food and travel writer Raul Dias is an ardent devotee of the peripatetic life.
